Brick’s throat clenched as he fought the tears filled his eyes. The weight of this responsibility settled on his shoulders like a royal mantle. He stuck out his hand, and Walrus took it. In the southern men’s language, this was as binding as a blood contract.
“Is this it, then, old man? You’re gonna go up the mountain and no one ever sees you again?”
Walrus shrugged. “You bring me some supplies from time to time. I know how to live off the land, but I also like coffee and other stuff you can’t get in the mountains of North Carolina. You’ll be the only one to know where I am and how to get to me.”
“It’s still gonna be lonely up there by yourself.”
“I’ll be all right. My mama and grandma showed me how to do pottery from scratch. Make the clay, turnin’ the wheel, firin’ the kiln. Maybe I’ll make something good.”
Brick pursed his lips. “You ever change your mind, I’ll always have your back. You have a place with Betsey and me anytime you want it.”
Walrus smiled. “Everything’s gonna be all right, son.”